


heaven sent you downstream

by badritual



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Character Study, Castiel Character Study (Supernatural), Castiel Didn't Go to the Empty, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Finale? What Finale?, Gen, Mention of the winchesters, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Not Beta Read, Onion Fields, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual
Summary: He will find his way back to Dean and Sam.
Kudos: 6





	heaven sent you downstream

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i pulled out of a WIP because it didn't really fit, but i kind of liked it. 
> 
> title from "Will You Smile Again?" by ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead.

In one breath, the Empty is wrapping its greasy black embrace around him, swallowing him, subsuming him completely, and in the next, he finds himself deposited rather unceremoniously on hard-packed dirt in the middle of—Castiel thinks, as he slams into the earth—an onion field. Or maybe it only looks like an onion field. It might not be an onion field at all; from what he remembers of his previous time in the Empty, which is fleeting, Angels are forced to relive their darkest, bleakest memories. He recalls being in an onion field once, digging into the dirt with torn fingernails, desperate for answers. Answers in the form of a crossroads demon, but answers all the same.

Castiel sits up slowly, takes stock of his surroundings, and takes measure of his Vessel. The Vessel—well, it’s more his than Jimmy’s, all things considered—seems no worse for the wear, really. The hair is a bit unruly now, a few stray leaves caught in the tangled maze atop his head, and there are a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing seems irreparably broken. Castiel lifts a hand to his chest—the cut on his palm pinches sharply, the closed wound reopening. It looks rather like the jagged red seam in the earth that Rowena had dived into. 

Castiel drops his hand, unable to look at the cut any longer. If he looks at it he’ll start thinking about why he had to cut his palm, and then he’ll think about—

Slowly, slowly Castiel pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his shabby trench coat. The coat, once freshly pressed and pristine, is now caked in mud and torn, shredded almost. As if claws had ripped at it, leaving the hem in tatters. 

“Hello,” Castiel calls out, shrugging the coat off and reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Is this the Empty?”

The resounding dark that envelops him does not answer back.

Perhaps he was sent somewhere else. A place they send those particularly pesky Angels who keep finding their way back. 

Castiel drapes the coat over his arm and turns, head on a swivel. The sky is pitch black, save the occasional twinkle of a star against the inky dark. The onion field stretches on and on, as far as his eye can see. 

If he’d had his phone with him, he’d have been able to figure out his location. He could have pulled up Google maps or something, and found his way back to the Winchesters by morning. 

Except… 

Except something isn’t right. 

Castiel lifts his uninjured hand to his throat, pressing his fingers up and in. There’s a shallow nick there, not deep enough to permanently wound or debilitate, yet deep enough to extract an Angel’s Grace if need be.

Castiel realizes then, stomach sinking with a shock of cold, that he’s human now. Someone had ripped out his Grace and dumped him in an onion field in the middle of nowhere. It’s why the cut still stings on his palm and the shallow nick on his throat hasn’t healed.

His eyes sting and that’s a relatively new sensation. He remembers that he’d cried as the Empty took him, but he hadn’t been focusing on the salty tears or the way they felt squeezing out of his poor Vessel’s pitifully human tear ducts. He’d only been focusing on Dean, Dean’s face and the way his forehead had crumpled just the tiniest bit as he realized Castiel was giving himself up and there was nothing Dean could do to stop it. 

Castiel glances down at the coat and tugs at a frayed thread. Perhaps this strange new humanness is why it no longer feels right to drape this coat over his shoulders. It had been his uniform, his armor, once upon a time, but he’s an Angel no longer.

He doesn’t quite feel human. In fact, he doesn’t quite feel _alive_ , either. It’s been years, but he still remembers what it had felt like to be a _Steve_. To live an insignificant human existence with a finite beginning and end. Parts of it had been wonderful. Parts of it had not. That life, such as it was, had been his though. 

Castiel starts moving then, slow shuffling steps as he emerges from the field and finds himself on a dirt path. When he lifts his head, he can’t find the moon and he’s worried for a moment that it’s been blotted out, but some wisps of clouds shift to reveal her ancient, pockmarked face. The gloom clears a bit, the fat moon dusting everything in faint silver glow. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says to the moon, chest swelling with gratitude. 

He resumes his slow shuffle, wondering if maybe he should look for an inviting home or a passing motorist he can ask for help. 

There are no inviting homes, nor any passing motorists. It’s quite late at night, he surmises. The world must be sleeping. He can’t even hear the chirping of crickets or the rustle of the wind through the trees. 

No matter, Castiel thinks. It will be morning soon. The sun will rise, and everything will become a bit clearer with it. 

He will find his way back to Dean and Sam. Together, they will find Jack. 

Castiel nods determinedly. 

His Will be done.


End file.
